Red Queen
by xahra99
Summary: Isabela convinces Alistair to consider piracy. Mature content. Contains spoilers. One-shot. Complete.


Red Queen

A Dragon Age: Origins fan fiction by xahra99

"Alistair leaves the Grey Wardens and is last seen hiring a ship to leave Denerim if Anora is made Queen, Loghain is allowed to live, and you convince Anora to spare Alistair's life."

_Dragon Age wikia: Epilogue._

Isabela and Casavir stalked the alleys of Denerim with their hands on the hilts of their swords. They navigated the tangle of streets effortlessly, heading for the Pearl. The streets were quieter than usual. The predators that usually trawled the docksides had melted into the slums like a shoal of fish confronted by a shark. You didn't have to be a Grey Warden to know that the Blight was heading for Denerim.

Casavir coughed nervously. "Boss?"

"Yes, Casavir?"

"D'you think the Pearl'll even be open?" He gestured around at the silent alleys. "It's pretty quiet out here."

Isabela's nails tapped on the hilt of her rapier. "Don't you trust me, Casavir?"

"Sure I do, boss, but-"

"It'll be open. Sanga's a greedy bitch. Besides, some of the whores have nowhere else to go."

Casavir nodded. "Yes, boss."

Isabela grinned. Her teeth flashed white in her dark face. "The Pearl's been good to me these past few years. I need to say my farewells to the place."

"You mean that Mathias still owes you money." Casavir pointed out.

Isabela frowned. She decided not to rebuke him-this time. Casavir was a good first mate. If the rumors were true, she'd need every scrap of skill in the weeks that followed. "True."

"Is it worth it, boss? I mean, we can always find more money. We won't find another like the _Siren's Call_ in a hurry."

His choice of words, _find_ when she knew he meant _steal_, made her laugh. "Don't fret so, Casavir.

I know there's a storm coming. I can taste it in the air. We'll catch the wind in our sails and run before the tempest hits. I know my ship. And I've invested too much in her to lose her now."

Casavir looked uncertain, but he nodded. They walked on in silence.

Despite her bravado, Isabela thanked the gods for Sanga's avarice as they turned the corner and she saw lights shining in the windows of the Pearl. The sign above the door creaked violently in the wind as Isabela pushed open the door. "Well, the old girl is certainly open for business," she said as she looked around. The brothel was busier than Isabela had ever seen it. She dodged as the captain of the Denerim guards staggered towards her, hands outstretched. A laughing girl balanced on his shoulders, her bare legs waving amid the sea of lace that was her petticoats. She tugged on the captain's ears and the pair of them staggered away towards an empty room.

Casavir watched them go. He blinked in the bright lamps. "I'd have thought people would have had more things on their mind than wine and whores."

Isabela laughed. "Casavir, this is _Denerim_."

The qunari bouncer looked up and grunted. Isabela didn't bother to reply. She went straight to the bar and rapped on the counter. Her gauntlets chimed on the polished wood. Casavir trailed behind her like a bad smell.

The bartender looked up with a grimace from the glasses he was polishing. "There's a bell over there," he said. "Use it."

Isabela ignored him. "I'd like my money, Mathias," she said. "And a drink."

The bartender's grimace darkened to a scowl. He reached under the bar and handed over a small but heavy leather pouch. "That's the last time I gamble with you," he said. "I thought that you'd forgotten."

"You _hoped_ that I'd forgotten," Isabela corrected. She extracted a single silver coin and tied the pouch onto her belt.

"That's what I said." Mathias growled. He stowed the glasses away on a high shelf, tucked the polishing cloth into the waistband of his breeches and leant on the bar. "Besides, you cheat."

"I don't need to cheat." Isabela said. Casavir raised his eyebrows skeptically at the comment and she stamped on his foot with her armored boots.

"Well, don't cheat tonight. It might get nasty. I've never see the Pearl like this. We'll run out of wine if things carry on this way."

"Thought you'd be closed already," Casavir grunted.

Mathias frowned. "Rumor has it the Darkspawn don't drink ale or tup whores. Sanga's making hay when the sun shines." He snorted. "Much good gold will do us. Rumor is we'll all be dead by Tuesday."

His disbelieving voice belied his gloomy expression. Isabela knew from cold hard experience that most people didn't believe they could die until it was too late. She leaned back on her elbows and surveyed the bar."Noisy crowd."

"Don't get me started." Mathias said. He poured wine into a glass and pushed it across the bar towards a disheveled elf who sank the glass in one before weaving off to her seat. "Denerim's gone insane. Everybody who isn't fucking themselves blind is drinking themselves into a stupor. I doubt if you'll find anyone here in a state to make conversation, let alone play cards."

"Blights seem to be good for business," Casavir observed.

"It's only logical," said Isabela. 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die."

The bartender snorted. "Maker, I hope not. There are more important things to life than wine. "He added a mark to the elf's tab with a stub of charcoal pencil.

Isabela spun the silver coin between her fingers. "You see, that's one thing about you landlubbers I just don't _get_. There _is_ nothing more important than wine." She shrugged. "Except rum. And, talking of rum, how about a drink?"

Mathias nodded. He snagged a pair of glasses from the drying rack and placed them on the counter. "Tell you what," he said, "I'll stand you a drink. For old times' sake."

"Things must be bad." Casavir jibed.

Isabela smiled. "I'll have rum," she told him.

"A glass?"

"A bottle."

Mathias frowned. "Then you're paying."

Isabela dipped her hand in the belt pouch and counted out a few silvers. She took the bottle he passed her in return and pushed off from the bar.

"Aren't you going to stay and drink with me?" Mathias called after her

Isabela smiled and shook her head. "Feel free to chat up Casavir," she suggested. "I need to say my goodbyes to the old girl." She flipped another coin to Casavir, who caught it in midair. "You boys enjoy yourselves."

She left Casavir eyeing Mathias speculatively and wandered through the common room and down the hallway, swigging from the bottle as she went.

The Pearl had been Isabela's safe harbor in Denerim for as long as she cared to remember. She knew each scarred floorboard and soft mattress almost as well as she knew the planks of her own ship. The building and the clientele had not changed, but the atmosphere was different. There was an edge of desperation to the merrymaking. Wild whoops drifted through the cracks in locked doors. A pink feather boa and a bottle of Bannorn bootleg whisky lay abandoned in the centre of the corridor. Isabela picked her way around the debris.

One of the doors thumped open and a whore came hurrying out. Her red hair was hopelessly tangled and her lace pantaloons hung torn at one hip. She bent down to reclaim the whisky bottle and noticed Isabela for the first time. Isabela saw recognition in her paint-streaked face. "My lady?"

Isabela shook her head. "Not tonight." She raised the bottle. "Tonight I just want to drink in peace."

The girl looked grateful. 'Very well, my lady." She clutched the bottle to her chest and vanished back inside the room. The door closed behind her. Isabela heard the noise of a bolt sliding across and a giggle, quickly muffled.

She took a swig from her own bottle and gasped at the sweet spicy flood of rum. It was good stuff, brewed right here in Denerim, and the thought that she might never taste it again made her suddenly nostalgic. She took a second swallow to drown the emotion, and wondered when a night she'd thought to celebrate with wine and winnings had somehow turned into a wake.

She turned back to the bar with a mixture of regret and nostalgia, resigning herself to a night spent drinking with Casavir and Mathias for company. By the time she had reached the common room the prospect had begun to seem even less entertaining than it had when she had first thought of it. Isabela cast around for other entertainment.

She found it in a corner surrounded by empty bottles.

The common room was crowded and noisy. The guard captain and his girl were playing strip poker in the centre of the room, surrounded by a crowd of eager onlookers. The elf was slumped face down on a table. An enterprising young dwarf was rifling her pockets. He caught Isabela's eye, stuffed the elf's earrings into an already-overflowing pouch and sidled out. A band of militiamen slurred 'The Good Ship Venus' at the top of their voices near the door. And then there was Alistair.

Isabela blinked.

_A pirate queen walks into a bar and meets the heir to the Ferelden throne_, she thought. _Sounds like the beginning of a bad joke._

She walked over to his table and stood staring down at him with her arms crossed over her chest. The sickly sweet reek of alcohol drifted up from the assortment of bottles on the tabletop. "Want a game?"

He looked up, frowning. "You," he said. "I recognize you."

She pointed to her chest. "Me?"

He nodded. "You're that pirate. Isa-something." He smiled triumphantly. "Isobel."

"Charmed," Isabela said sweetly. "You almost got it right."

"Almost?"

She bowed deeply, holding the bottle upright the whole time. "Isabela of Rivain, my lord. Captain of the _Siren's Call_, queen of the Eastern Seas and the sharpest blade in Llomeryn." Zevran had come up with the list of titles one very drunk night several years ago. Lies, all of them, but they suited her.

Alistair frowned. It didn't look like an expression he had had much practice at. "Don't call me that."

Isabela hooked the chair opposite him with her boot and sat down. "Why not? It's true." She pushed aside a couple of the bottles and set her own on the table.

"And don't I wish it wasn't." He glanced around, suddenly paranoid. "You didn't...tell anyone, did you?"

Isabela smiled. "Relax," she said, and began to lay her cards out on the table." News travels fast when you bribe the right people. I make it my business to know things. The only thing that surprised me is that I did not realize sooner." She shook her head. "The resemblance is...unmistakable."

Alistair gazed at his reflection in the spilled beer on the table. "That's funny," he said. "I don't think I look like Cailan."

She studied him. "Not quite. If you looked like Cailan, you'd have hair to your shoulders and a wench on each arm. But we can work on that."

"I don't want to grow my hair."

Isabela smiled. "I didn't mean the hair."

"Oh," Alistair said, subsiding.

Isabela took a swig from her own bottle and counted the number of empty glasses in front of Alistair. The number surprised her. He didn't look the type to drink more than two pints and still be standing. From the amount of ale he'd apparently consumed, she doubted that he could even remember his own name.

Of course, from what she had heard, maybe that was the point.

She flicked an empty bottle with her nail. "Impressive," she said, and meant it. She pushed the bottle of rum towards him. "Try this."

Alistair peered at the label. "What is it?""

Isabela smiled. "Rum."

Alistair frowned. He poured both himself and Isabela a small glass with a hand that was almost steady and sniffed it suspiciously.

Isabela took back the bottle and poured herself a much larger glass. "You haven't heard of rum? Where _were_ you raised?"

"In the Chantry."

"That explains a lot." She knocked back the glass in one shot and coughed. "Go on. It'll take the hairs off your chest."

Alistair had apparently retained enough of his brain cells to ignore her. He gulped a swallow and looked as if he wished he hadn't. "Maker's name! How'd you drink that stuff?"

"This is quality!" Isabela said indignantly.

"It's not working."

"Don't you bet. It'll sneak up on you when you're not watching." She poured another drink. "Now how about a game?"

"I don't play cards."

"Consider this an opportunity to start. Have you ever played Wicked Grace?" When Alistair shook his head, she shuffled the cards and continued. "I can teach you some basics, but the game takes a lifetime to master. Much like the game of thrones."

"I lost that game too," Alistair muttered, but he picked up the cards and they started to play.

He lost, of course. Isabela had expected nothing else. It made the game more difficult than she had expected. It had been a long time since she had played cards without cheating.

_So he's a fool,_ she thought as she held up her winning cards. _On the other hand, maybe he's honest_. "Four knights. Roses, ages, sacrifice and wisdom. The game is over."

"So what happens now?"'

"Now we show our hands." She leant forwards. "Why are you here?"

He sighed; laid down his cards. "How much do you know?"

Isabela lowered her voice. "I know enough. I know that you're King Cailan's brother, and I know that Anora's on the throne. And I know that nobody expected you to leave. Why did you leave? Did you not want to be king that much? I can think of a dozen things I'd do were I queen." She smiled. "Bottle more of this excellent rum, for starters."

Alistair shook his head and winced. "It wasn't that. Well, it was, but that wasn't all of it. She spared Loghain's life. Made him a Grey Warden. So I told her it cheapened the Order," He sighed. "And I left."

Isabela considered the new information. "Interesting."

"What?"

"I can see it in your eyes. You would have killed him. I find that...appealing. If you can choose to kill a man rather than spare him, and know that that path is more merciful, then you might make a duelist. You must be a good fighter. Did your companions not prevent you leaving?"

"They didn't have much choice."

Isabela gathered up her cards. She sat back in her chair and considered her options. Duelists –and pirates, for that matter- quickly learned to take advantage of any situation. Having the lost king of Ferelden owe her a favor might not be a bad idea.

She poured another glass for both of them. "So what's your course? Where are you headed?"

Alistair drew pictures in the spilled beer on the tabletop with one finger. The shapes vanished as quickly as they appeared. "I was planning to hire a ship and leave Denerim altogether."

"Come with me," Isabela said impulsively.

"Why?"

She ticked off the reasons on her scarred fingers. "Firstly, the _Siren's Call_ is, to my knowledge, the only ship docked in Denerim that has a chance of outrunning the Blight. I'm heading for the Free Marches, but I can sail as far as I need to. Secondly, I would like to get to know you better. Card games and drinking will only teach you so much about a man." She cocked her head. "Free passage to the Free Marches. It's a good trade."

"You're going now?" he asked.

Isabela nodded. "I only stayed to see how things played out. From what I've heard, it would be unwise to stay. Blights tend to be hard on things." She glanced at Alistair. "And people."

"You have that right," he said.

"So how about it? Will you honor me with your company? My ship is down by the docks, and I m sure you'd like to see what's below deck. I assure you my cabin is quite comfortable."

"So the offer comes with a bed attached?"

She smiled, watching him carefully; to be sure he was certain of all the offer entailed. "It does."

"It would be rude of me to decline."

"Very well," she said, and got up. "This way."

It wasn't far from the Pearl to the dock where the _Siren's Call_ lay moored. Isabela made out the proud jut of her mast above the buildings before she was within a hundred meters of the ship. She'd had many lovers and one husband (it had ended badly) but her ship was her true and everlasting love. Isabela smiled. "Hello, my beauty," she murmured.

"Nice boat," Alistair said as they rounded the corner and the ship came into view in all her glory.

Isabela rounded on him. "The _Siren's Call_ is a three-masted, broad-beamed Antivan caravel. She has saved my life a dozen times and maybe, one day, she will save yours. She is not a _boat_."

"Sorry. Nice _ship_."

Isabela glared at him for a second, and laughed. Her laughter continued until they reached the gangplank. The sailor she had posted on watch nodded as they approached, but said nothing as Alistair followed her up the gangplank. Once aboard she turned to Casavir and ordered, "Haul sails. We're leaving. Now."

Casavir nodded, relieved. "Very good, boss."

Isabela smiled. She stalked from mast to mast, checking the rigging and snapping her fingers against her thigh as she hurried. She stayed topside long enough for the sailors to cast off and gestured to Alistair to follow her below as Denerim receded behind them.

Alistair craned his neck to stare at the ivory tower of Fort Drakon.

"I guess I don't get to say goodbye," he said, so quietly that even Isabela's duelist-trained ears hardly heard him.

Isabela shrugged. "Farewells are overrated," she told him. "Follow me."

Alistair gave Denerim one last look before he followed Isabela into her cabin. The space was small, but it was hers, and Isabela was proud of it. She had hung damask tapestries on the walls and iron lanterns from the ceiling, each carefully secured against the rocking of the waves. She lit the lamps and waited for Alistair to pass comment. It didn't come. Alistair spread a hand against the doorframe, trying and almost failing to keep his feet as the ship surged under way. "It's a little rough."

"Rough? This is as smooth as silk compared to what it will be like when we leave the shelter of the harbor," Isabela said. She laughed at Alistair's discomfited expression. "You'll not make a sailor."

"Andraste's grace!' he said, "I don't want to be one."

"You curse too poorly, to be sure." Isabela sat on the bed and patted the space next to her. 'Sit down," she invited.

He did. She noticed that his breathing had quickened slightly. As she began to remove her bracers and then her boots, he looked at everywhere but at her.

"Why'd you come here?" she asked as she unbuckled her rapier and laid it gently on the floor.

"Because I need to escape," he said. "I need to forget. Because you know what I did, but you don't care."

Isabella shrugged. She loosened the straps on her bustier and he gulped at the expanse of tea-colored flesh revealed. "I have done far worse."

Alistair shook his head. "I doubt it."

"And I doubt you could dream of what I have done, much less find yourself capable of it. She shook out her long red hair. "We all have our burdens to bear. Don't judge until you know me better."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

"Shut up," Isabela said, and kissed him. Alistair tasted of rum and bitterness. They fell back on the bed, rocked in the sea's embrace, and Isabela charted his body with her hands. She removed clothes and armor, mapped his shoals, depths and unexpected currents until she could sail him blindfolded.

Of course, she didn't use the blindfold straight away. That came later.

Much later, even after that, she sat sated on the edge of her bed with her bare feet buried in a rug of Nevarran sheepskin. Alistair sprawled across her bed. He was asleep, or possibly unconscious. One of his arms and both feet dangled over the edges of the bed, although this had more to do with his spread-eagled position than because the bed was particularly small. He looked terrifyingly young. Isabela didn't know exactly how old he was, but judging by dead King Cailan's age, Alistair had to be a good few years younger than she was. In experience, she reckoned him at least a decade less.

_Twenty?_ she thought. _Twenty-five_? He had the beginning of crow's feet around his eyes, but his attitude made him seem barely out of his teens.

The ship rolled. Isabela adjusted her position.

_He looks so peaceful_, she thought.

The thought barely had time to leave her mind before Alistair sat bolt upright. His eyes filled with panic. He reached for his sword and found it not within reach. Isabela had taken both sword and shield and placed them in her weapons chest. Years of duelist training had Isabela up and reaching for her rapier before he'd even stopped moving. She crouched with her bare skin against the splintery wood of the door and leveled the blade at Alistair's throat.

He didn't even look at her. Isabela hesitated less than a second before she lowered the rapier.

_What in all the gods' name is wrong with him?_ she thought, raising her hand to touch the fine lines on her face. She was a woman of experience and realized that the face on the pillow in the morning didn't always match the image of the night before, but she had never had anybody wake up screaming in her bed.

Alistair groaned and buried his head in his hands. He shook like a rowboat in a gale. Isabela reached out and touched his shoulder. His skin was clammy with sweat. "You're all right?" she asked gently.

He nodded, but his eyes were blank. Isabel had the unnerving feeling that he wasn't really seeing her; that he wasn't seeing anything except the images inside his own head. "You can take a man out of the Grey Wardens," he said, "but you can't take the Wardens out of a man."

Isabela frowned. She searched in the tangle of clothes and armor until she found her scabbard and sheathed her rapier in a single smooth movement. "What does that even mean?"

Alistair shook himself. "Nothing." He shook himself and Isabela watched the humanity return slowly to his eyes. His face, drawn with fear or concern, grew slightly more animated. "In fact, forget I said anything. We're moving. That's all."

Isabela sat down beside him. "So what will you do, when we reach the Marches?"

"Run," Alistair said briefly.

Isabela shook her head. "That." she said precisely, "is not a good plan. You must think. Prepare. A duelist is always ready."

"I'm not a duelist."

"I could make you one," she said. The offer hung in the air between them. Alistair said nothing, and Isabela forged ahead. "The problem with running," she said, "is that it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the same place. If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice as fast as that. And that's impossible."

"That's nonsense."

"Maybe. But it's sometimes true. And with a fast ship and a good crew, sometimes you can travel fast enough."

"Why're you doing this? Am I such a prize?"

"I shall not turn you down, even in _your_ condition."

He looked down at the sheets and smiled for the first time. Isabela watched him and thought _I'm in trouble_. Even crumpled and half-drunk he was a prize, and worth a second look. But then a woman in Isabela's position-disreputable, piratical, Rivaini, had to take whatever she could lay her hands on. And that had always been Isabela's intention.

He looked at her. "What would you suggest?"

"I was thinking," Isabela told him, "Have you ever considered piracy?"

***

It's rum and plunder, ho! My hearts –

Our ship is trim and true.

We'll set a course for distant parts

And foreign revenue.

We sail upon the morning tide

To strop our blades on merchant hide,

And we'll get glory, gold and pride

On Captain Bonney's crew.

Annwn-The Red Queen


End file.
